


Simple Gestures

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Honestly really bittersweet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: Horatio is absolutely miserable aboard the Justinian.  Clayton eases some of his burden.  Kind of.





	

Horatio had known that his life aboard the _Justinian_ would be nothing short of miserable from the moment that he had come aboard. Perhaps it was mostly due to the relentless flipping of his stomach, but it filled him with dread and anxiety nevertheless. At first it had been from the fear of embarrassing himself in front of his fellow officers. 

But now he had a very different cause that made it rather difficult to not look over his shoulder in a panic every other minute, and that cause went by the name of Jack Simpson. 

The man had made his life a living hell. 

His ghastly “inquisition,” as he had called it, was the most recent and scarring event on his mind – being bent over a table before and by the rest of the midshipmen, Simpson climbing over him and leaning close enough for him to smell the spirits on his breath. 

Hornblower shivered, unconsciously trying to sink further into his hammock. The rest of them were fast asleep – or so it seemed. He could not say the same for himself.

Simpson had stopped requiring Kennedy or, more recently, Clayton to wake him every half-hour, but that was not out of consideration for anyone else but himself. After all, Simpson himself had to stay awake to ensure that his intuitive little form of torture was carried out properly. 

But Hornblower still did not sleep easy. Tonight was no different than the other nights.

He lay on his side, head and neck slightly twisted away from the others so that if one of them were to wake, they would not see his face – or the embarrassment that it would bring down upon him. 

The salty sting of tears on the raw, reddened skin underneath his eyes was all too familiar, and like a faithful dog, it returned to him every night without fail. He did not enjoy weeping, and it was certainly not by choice that he did so. He cursed himself routinely for not being able to bring it under full control and suppression, but that had done nothing but make it worse.

For now, it was all Horatio could do to reign himself in until the others became lost in their own minds, when there were no scrutinizing eyes latched onto him and his every action. He had become quite practiced in keeping himself silent, in breathing _just so,_ so that the strangled noises that wanted to burst out of his chest were kept muted and hidden. 

Perhaps he had wrongfully assumed the ignorance of his fellow officers, or perhaps he had overestimated his own ability to keep to himself, but regardless of which it was, that did not do anything to decrease the shock and surprise that shot through Horatio when he felt another hand lay overtop his own, covering it, calloused fingers brushing soothingly along his own bony ones. Horatio did not need to turn his head to know that the hand belonged to Clayton, who was directly beside him and the only one who could reach him like this without making a great deal of noise.

He did not dare to whisper to him, or even to turn his head towards him in acknowledgement, but Clayton did not seem to mind. Instead, he let his hand rest there, a reassurance in itself. I have you, he was saying, and Horatio was grateful, and his tears were now partially of relief rather than purely of despair.


End file.
